Wounded Waltz
by KiaForrest
Summary: tag for Shindig Apologizing to a sore woman with a blowtorch in her hands was more dangerous than Alliance skiffs, even with pink falderal in your hands and crime to be had.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own. I just play. Sue if you must. I have $1.59 in the checking account. There are 19 sticky pennies in the change jar, many children on the place and even more cats & plastic fish that might bring you wealth beyond your dreams...or not_

****

**Wounded Waltz**  
The jug of wine, if you could truly call it that, was in the center of the steps leading into the engine room. There was no sign of Kaylee, but miles of pink hair ribbon were laced over the hook of the hammock. The rainbow fabric nearly overpowered the delicate coloring, but Mal had been looking. He even appreciated the effort it musta taken to bow it up and drape it just so. He'd had difficulty enough with his own tie. So much Kaylee had pushed his hands aside to fashion it proper before they left _Serenity_.

Neither of them mentioned how her hands trembled looping the string tie around her gloved fingers, nor the way her tongue peeking between her lips caught Mal's breath so it felt like she was noosing him. Her hand smoothed his jacket, and then flicked some dust off his shoulder. The brush of her hands had not lingered, though Mal was most certain it had, damn tight pants.

Graceful, despite her frippery, Kaylee had backed a pace to admire her efforts, and his appearance. She nodded before spinning and flouncing down the ramp, still antagonized by his spiteful words earlier in the day. Mal knew better'n to comment. He just let it be. Kaylee'd come 'round and forgive him. Then it would be safe to beg pardon properly. Apologizing to a sore woman with a blowtorch in her hands was more dangerous than Alliance skiffs, even with pink falderal in your hands and crime to be had.

Bending cautiously, he cradled the jug, nodded his thanks for Kaylee's inter-engine fermentation system, and ambled to check on the cargo. Inara met him on the scaffolding and he offered her a drink. Easing to the deck with dignity was pretty much impossible. Inara glanced away while he squatted, rolled a bit and shifted about, as graceless as the creatures below.

It was the first pleasant moment he could remember since he'd watched Kaylee approach the buffet table for questioning. In between that and loading the cattle was still mostly a blur. Mal was fine with that, seeing as how he managed to make a gorram fool of himself, not to mention getting his self stabbed in that blurry time.

When Inara floated to her feet, Mal's were mostly numb from dangling so long. He waved away her offer of help, admitting only that he'd like to ponder his riches a bit longer. Her laughter was much smoother than the wine, nearly as intoxicating.

The scent replacing her perfume was that of contained cattle rising to introduce him to the first thrill of livestock transportation. Getting them loaded had been easy, Jayne enjoyed himself playing cowboy while Book egged him on. Compensating for the weight hadn't bothered Wash none, but now, Mal was considering the days to come and the delightful aroma no doubt about to waft through all of _Serenity_.

"Ain't no worse than 'Nara's incense, I guess." Mal didn't believe that, but it was what he anticipated Jayne offering as consolation. No doubt he'd start another fuss. At the moment, that was about as far as Mal wanted to take any notions wandering through his brain.

"If you have to wrinkle your nose like that to see if it's numb, you've had too much." Kaylee slapped the cork in the jug, not laughing like she shoulda.

Mal rolled to his good side, looked up at her and drew his knees under him to crawl and grab the railing so's he could get on his feet. Kaylee towering over him, all disgruntled, with a large pottery jug to hand, wasn't any safer than her fuming with a blowtorch. "Your concern is overwhelming."

"Reckon you don't need my concern, Cap'n. Got plenty to fuss over you and be mighty impressed with your noble heroics." Kaylee nodded, both of her. Mal held on to the rail only because it felt like the 'verse decided to spin the opposite direction – without warning him first!

She tilted her head, considering his flushed cheeks and clenched jaw. Shifting the jug in her hands, she sighed as if her life was cursed. "If you puke I'm not gonna clean it up."

"Puke – why you – I'll have you know it'd take more than that," he waved his finger at the jug, "that mother's milk to bring up my innards. I'm just a bit – it was the doc's shot what made me all bendy, not your booze."

Kaylee held the jug before her; hands laced around it, smirking at him "Best go sleep off the doc's shot then, fore you fall over on the cows."

Mal swung his other hand to grip the rail, and then wobbled toward her, hand over hand. His wounded waltz, didn't soften her any, not so's he could notice. He squinted at her, just to be sure, "You got no compassion for the stabbed, do you?"

"Not when they wounded themselves, I don't." Kaylee snapped, but she offered her shoulder to him, and shuffled along the corridor bearing a bit more of his weight than he might normally have shared with another. Damn doc shot him up with so much … stuff.

"That dandy boy – he done it, Kaylee." He groaned up the steps, whining like an arthritic old man when she propped him against the rail to set the jug down. "You're not just gonna leave me here, are you? In my hour of suffering and agony?"

Rolling her eyes, she promised him she wouldn't even consider it. "Can't have your body cluttering up the stairs, now can we?"

"You are a mite mean when you've been drinking, Kaylee. How's come I never noticed that afore?" He rubbed his nose with his fist, convinced it must be drooping off his face, but no, it wasn't.

"I ain't been drinking, you have," she reminded him with a chuckle that just wouldn't be denied. Wrapping her arm around him, and catching the hand flopping over her shoulder for balance, she heaved and guided him the rest of the way. When they reached the kitchen, he mentioned how a snack would be welcome, but Kaylee kept prodding him along as if he were a – a cow!

"I didn't get to interrogate buffet tables like some folks." Mal whined, nodding over his shoulder at the bread resting on the counter, nicely covered with a towel. "Least ya could let me have a crust a bread."

Kaylee groaned, steered him back around, kicked a chair out and dropped him on it, not gently. Vigorously, she sliced some bread, smacked it with some buttery spread, flung it all on a plate and slapped it before him. "Want some coffee with that…sir?"

Mal didn't push his luck. "Water would be nice."

Her muttering was expected, so was her giggle. Mal stuffed the first slice of bread in his face to hide his grin. Maybe she'd forgive him fore he sobered up – from the doc's shot. Maybe she'd stab him too; it had been that kind of a day. Morosely, feeling as unloved as stinky cows, he wondered if he'd ever understand women.

"Probably not till you think of us as folks you can more'n count on instead of mysterious frippery. Till then, most likely you'll keep getting stabbed and shot." Kaylee pushed the water glass toward him, grinning when he choked on the bread. When she was sure he wasn't dying – though he suggested otherwise, she told him to eat up. "You need to get to bed."

"Are you making improper advances to me, woman?" Mal's face drooped into the palm of his hand. Though his eyebrows wouldn't obey him and rise to the occasion, he was right proud of the smile he managed. At least it made Kaylee's jaw relax and her grin return. He sure enjoyed that grin and the way her hair curled around her face, brushing near the edge of her mouth, where she kept her lips that grinned so bright….

She winked and scooted forward in her chair, breaking off a piece of his bread to nibble. Sweet as satin, she whispered near his ear, "Only parts of me want to touch you right now are my hands – around your throat. You up to that?"

"Reckon I'll pass on that tempting offer," Mal sighed, stretching his shoulders since they felt knotty all of a sudden, like something heavy was dragging on them. "Kaylee, I am sorry 'bout being a jackass over the dress. But, gorram it, you all ought not talk about 'Nara's clothing and line of work like-"

"Like we talk about Wash's dinosaurs, or my tools, or Jayne's weapons, or the Preacher's book, or Zoe's slink?" Kaylee tossed the crust back on the plate. Hurt and anger setting her jaw, stealing her grin, "Taking your frustration out on me in front of everyone ain't right. Am I supposed to defend myself against my Cap'n, in front of the others?"

She was inches from his nose, as angry as ever he'd seen her – he could tell cause her sweet lips was pushed sideways, like the doc just stuck his foot in it, again. She jabbed a finger into his shoulder, reminding him whom she was all pushed sideways with, "Don't think I won't if you ever chomp on me like that again, hear me?"

He nodded. It seemed the safest course to chart since he wasn't quite sure this woman poking at him was really his sweet Kaylee, and not some shot/ booze/ got stabbed for being an ass spectral haunting type thing….

Kaylee growled – that he was sure of – shoved her chair back, dove under his shoulder and wheedled him to his feet. "Come on, you need to sleep it off, and I done said too much to a man who ain't got ears to hear."

Mal indignantly picked up his feet, and weight, steadying himself on the back of the chair. Face flushed with too much to drink, not enough to eat, doc's shot and Kaylee's hurt gaze stabbing deeper than Atherton's blade; he bowed deep as he dared toward her.

Working some charm to his face, he tried one more time to make things shiny. "My moma always said, _When attending a shindig, you make sure and deliver the gal to her door, safe and sound as when she met up with you._" A frown puckered his charm, "Once or twice she smacked me across the back of the head to emphasize that point. Anyhow, would you allow me to see you home, Miss Kaylee?"

Kaylee backed from him as if River had sudden, and stiff, competition in the sanity challenged area. "If you weren't already stabbed, I'd – Oh, go sleep it off!"

She flashed by him, around the stairs and clattered down the steps like Reaver's were pursuing. He heard her retrace a couple steps to get the 'gorram jug' then stomp to the engine room, a stream of curses soiling the air, though with the cow stink, who would notice. Mal weaved to his bunk, kicked open his door and inched his way down the ladder, muttering as incoherently as Kaylee.

_Never say nothing right to nobody. Just destined to get shot and stabbed, ma. How come you never mentioned **that** part when teaching me mannerly ways? How come you never said women were – well, I don't reckon you would admit you was nuts. Don't recollect you being nuts though, **you** always made good sense. And **you** wouldn't a stabbed me!_

He fell asleep, smiling, remembering how his ma would brushing her lips across his forehead, checking to see if he had a fever and promising to bring him a cup of broth after she finished the milking. No one brought him broth now, not even when he got stabbed….

Kaylee tucked the jug away and kicked the panel with her scuffed ole boot. Damned if she was going to spend hours alone moping and regretting the evening. Defiantly dancing through the hatch, swinging her arms and humming under her breath as she retraced her steps, she didn't even glance at the Captain's door to see if he was splattered at the bottom of the ladder. Serve him right if he was.

Grinning, she quietly kicked open her door, descended, and enjoyed the sight of pink with just enough ruffles to be a promise. Maybe some folks preferred dancing with someone when they shoulda been taking care of crime, but _she_ knew there was pleasure in the 'verse to be found if you just looked about for it.

"Got nothing in common with useless people, but damned if I'd have missed any of it." She leaned back, flipped on the music, adjusted it a bit louder so's maybe the Captain's head would exact a bit of revenge, and pondered the joy of good conversation, men buzzing 'bout her and real food that couldn't resist her methods of interrogation….

Wash swiveled back and forth in his chair, relaxed as a man could be with a hold full of restless cattle hurtling through the black. He heard someone moving about, got up to check and was not surprised to see Kaylee creeping along the passage. She was wearing that blue and pink monstrosity of a nightgown that made his shirts look sedate. He glanced at the readings, but knew he wouldn't find a reason there to account for her roaming in the middle of the night. Opening his mouth to ask her what was troubling her, he never uttered a word.

Kaylee pushed her bare toes against Mal's door and slithered down the ladder before Wash could blink. He was still standing there, mouth hanging low, when she popped back out a few minutes later and closed the door quiet as she'd opened it.

She waved at him, and Wash sort of waved back, eyes wide. Clearing his throat, he managed to ask, "Everything OK?"

"Just checking on the noble hero. He was stabbed, you know." Kaylee yawned, hitched up her gown and disappeared back to her own bunk, calling out, "Night Wash," before closing the hatch.

He didn't think to respond, until long after he'd puzzled on the words Mal and Noble Hero in the same sentence. Maybe he'd write a poem about it, just for Zoe... "Yeah, uh, night Kaylee."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own. I just play. Sue if you must. I have $1.59 in the checking account. There are 19 sticky pennies in the change jar, many children on the place and even more cats & plastic fish that might bring you wealth beyond your dreams...or not

**being what we are**  
His hand inched toward his pillow, instead of the metal he was reaching for, his fingers encountered flannel. Not under the pillow, but billowing about him. Soft, certainly was unexpected. He tried to place the familiarity with the aches and pains assaulting him.

Small hands smoothed covering over his half-dressed body, taking care across his middle where he was stabbed. He remembered that – suddenly, as if the thought pierced him sharply as Wing's sword. Swords. What a waste of sweat.

Rough fingers roamed through his hair, threading it from his sweat damp forehead. A thumb hesitated, near his eyelashes, before warming his cheek for less than a minute, longer than a second.

_How drunk had he been?_ Was his first coherent thought, but it wasn't more'n a passing one. Mal didn't get **that** drunk, not anymore.

When the hand and fingers moved away, flannel again brushed his bare arm as naked feet tread silently toward his ladder. Away. Not throttling life from him or even attempting to. Neither was she – it had to be she; feet were too small to be a he – closer to him. Frowning, he tried to open one eye. Just to get a glimpse of whosoever was traipsing through his bunk in what better be the middle of the night.

Blue and pink flowers hitched up to take the ladder made him groan, halting the red painted toes on the first rung. Body stretching to rise from his personal space dropped back to the deck but remained, one foot still on the rung, by the ladder. Acres of flannel were clenched in her fist, revealing a calf that was toned, a knee that was flexed and poised for flight.

"You all right?" Kaylee's voice was barely above a whisper. He felt it slide between the bandaging and the wound, thick as the salve doc had slathered across his injuries, twice as calming.

"I am not. I was stabbed you know." He bent his elbow, to prop up his head because it didn't want to leave the pillow. His grin was a bit off-center, and his eye seemed overly wide, but his voice was his own, "What the hell you doing?"

"Just checkin' is all." She slid her arm through a rung, bent at the elbow, hands laced as if she needed to anchor herself, there.

"Gonna tell me some bed time stories?" Mal's head slid back to the pillow.

"Not tonight." Her laughter was strained, drawing Mal's frown once more. "Just felt bad for fussin' at you, being stabbed and all. Came to make sure you were all right."

"Did we fuss?" Mal rubbed his face. Trying to remember … anything but the flaming throb in his side and cows - seemed to remember cows in there somewhere.

"No. I fussed." Kaylee let go her fingers. Sighed back to tuck a blanket around him. Once more her fingers, light as ruffles, despite the work calloused tips, lingered near his cheek.

Mal expected the kiss, captured her face with both hands 'fore she offered it chaste like to his forehead. Kissing Kaylee was infinitely more satisfying than engine fermented wine. Tasting her satin laughter, feeling her breath catch, so's her hands dropped the flannel and rooted in the mattress either side of him was heartening as the warmth of her pleasured sigh. As his hand followed strands of her hair, sliding along her spine, he felt her knees lock against the side of his bunk. Her fingers dug into the linen, but the moan was his.

Tenderly as she'd meant the kiss to be, Kaylee drew away, blinkin' at him like warning lights. Her sigh wasn't quite reproach, but it held more understanding than he felt he deserved. "You're in no kinda shape to dance with me."

His chuckle teased her hair, curling it round his pinky. Manly protests juggled to rise from him, but she stole the breath from him with a wink. Drawing his hand from her shoulder, she sandwiched it between hers, nudging his knee over with her bottom, so's she could sit beside him.

"Once upon a time," she rubbed his knuckles with her palm, "There was a fine ball in the middle of a fancy town…."

"I reckon I know this story, little Kaylee." He wriggled his fingers to loosen her hold, but she settled their hands on the yards of flannel and refused to let go.

"Some of the best stories are one's you know turn out with a happy ending." She gazed at their hands, coupled in her lap, startled when his other hand covered hers. Tossing hair from her eyes, she said, "I'm right sorry I fussed at you, though. Can't help being what we are – wouldn't want you to be different."

Mal considered her face, not rightly understanding what was making her look sad. "Kaylee, you got nothing to apologize for. Seems it's me ought to be doing the sorry's."

She shrugged, releasing his hands. Leaving them idle on the bed where her bottom had been. All in one movement, those damn flowers nearly blinding him, she stood up and smiled down at him.

He tried to sit up; maybe to stop her, or at least watch she got up the ladder okay. But, his body didn't obey commands the mind was giving it. Pain made him forget what he'd been thinking to say. All he could get out was meaningless, "Was a good party … until the punching part."

Kaylee's laughter was generous, "It was, and I bartered us some parts for Serenity from a gentlemen that appreciates useful people."

"So that's who you were rushing to meet with your sack while we were loading cattle." Mal snorted. "Thought maybe you'd found a dandy of your own, you were gone long enough."

"Noticed that, did you, while fussing at Jayne about herding techniques?" Kaylee leaned her forehead on the ladder, looking weary as he felt.

"Captain thing." Mal shifted, trying to see her face in the shadows. Her voice sounded so odd, farther away than a chandelier floating above.

"Didn't go nowhere but out of the way of the thundering herd." Kaylee chuckled, whispering something he didn't quite catch, sounded like, "I don't interest the dandies none."

"What did you barter us?" His eyes lids were so heavy, damned if Kaylee didn't look like she was waffling about by the ladder, moving toward him and then away. How did she appear so close and so far all at once? Must be the flannel – some trick of the nightlights from above on those petals thick as her gentle fingers….

"Just some bits and pieces," she whispered, holding her breath.

When he wriggled his jaw and turned back toward the pillow, hand sliding to the edge, where he could reach his 'just in case' weapon, she hiked up her gown. Feet curling around the rungs, hands sure on the rail, she left him. Reassuring Wash, who was standing there, his mouth all wide open and shocked, she crept to her own bed.

No 'just in case' needed under her pillow that's for sure. First decent kiss she'd had in years, and what was she wearing? Flounces and Ruffles? No, course not. Just her old ugly, time of the month, life is cold; at least my moma loves me enough to send me this, gown. Seams were mended many times, the elbow nearly worn through on the right side, but it helped, more'n pretty things. In the black, a body needed more'n ruffles and pale colors, strange how easy it was to forget that...

As she was drifting off to sleep, she didn't hear the strains of waltz music, or remember the scent of fine food, or even the men buzzing round her. She heard Malcolm Reynolds boots hit the deck and his grunt of relief.

It made her smile.


End file.
